


compatible

by thir13enth



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Fluff, an exploration of a small headcanon i had
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 18:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13440522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/pseuds/thir13enth
Summary: "I wonder what marks you would have, if you were Altean."—shallura.





	compatible

**Author's Note:**

> just an exploration of a small headcanon

Even after a long and hard training session, they’re not done sparring, bringing teasing jabs and vengeful tickles back to Allura’s bedroom. This goes on even after they’ve showered and dressed down for sleep, and they toss and turn in her bed, rolling over each other until she ends everything and sits on Shiro’s hips, pinning him down with her thighs. Ever the pillow fight victor, she leans over to give him a triumphant you’re- _mine_ kind of kiss.

She looks down at him for a long quiet moment, grinning and catching her breath. Her hair falls out from behind her ears and spills over his face. Some of the ends of her silver waves fall over his eyelashes and he lightly blows them away so he can see the curiously pensive stare she gives him.

She blinks. “Take off your shirt,” she suddenly commands him.

“…What?” he asks, unable to help the goofy grin that emerges over his face.

“Just take it off,” she repeats. She climbs off his body, getting back up to her feet and standing next to the bed to watch him do just that.

“Yes, Princess,” he immediately obliges, not exactly sure what to think of it. He hadn’t thought their bed wrestling was actually any kind of foreplay, but he figures he can quickly get into the mood for sex if that’s what she wanted out of him at that second. He sits up and pulls his shirt over his head, and then shirtless, he looks back up at her.

“Good,” she says. Her eyes sparkle. “Wait here.”

“What are you doing?” he protests, pulling off the sheets and blankets from over his legs. He reaches forward to grab her leg, as if to pull her back into bed.

“No, stay there! I told you to stay!” she laughs, ducking his grasp. She quickly grabs a pillow in each hand — fallen off her bed from their earlier messing around — and throws both at him before skittering away to her dresser. Opening a few of the drawers, she rummages but is unable to find what she’s looking for.

All the meanwhile Shiro is very confused, unable to figure out what this is all leading to. Although, he supposes, at the end of the day, for him, this really just boils down to — one, they were having sex; or two, they were not having sex.

For the sake of his rising libido, he sincerely hopes for the former.

He watches her search for whatever it is that she’s looking for, more like, enjoying the sight of her long brown muscular legs slipping out from under her nightgown and her loose and untied hair following her every motion.

Still trying to find whatever it is, Allura browses every other nook and cranny in her path. Eventually Allura reaches her closet door, pulling it open and glancing over each shelf until she finally finds her coveted item, giggling when she sees it.

“What are you laughing about?” he asks her accusingly.

“You’ll see,” she promises him, growing a few inches taller so that she could reach the jar on the very top of her closet shelf. She shrinks back to normal height as she walks back toward the bed, quickly reading over the label.

Seeing that indeed, there was no expiration date to be wary of, she places the nondescript jar into Shiro’s hands.

He furrows his eyebrows. “What’s this?” he asks her, turning the jar around to read the label. He tries to understand as much of the writing as he can, but doesn’t get very far. “All I can read is this vowel,” he tells her, pointing to a character. “Ah,” he sounds out.

“Bravo,” she congratulates him, also giving herself a little clap for the impromptu lesson she gave him on the phonetics of Altean alphabet the other day.

He tips the jar back and forth, watching the glowing magenta liquid inside of it slide from side to side. It looks viscous — and definitely not edible. After some observation, he daringly twists open the jar and peers inside before looking up at her to demand an explanation.

“It’s agluri,” she tells him. “We used to play with it when we were children.”

“So…” he muses, looking back down at the substance. “…what do you do with it?”

“Children usually paint it over their faces and arms, trying to guess what colors and designs would emerge on their skin when they grew older,” she says, taking the jar from him and sitting back down on the mattress, crossed-legged in front of him. She smiles. “It doesn’t have much use for me now since I already have my marks, but I should like to imagine the marks _you_ would have, provided you were Altean.”

Shiro looks at the magenta crescents under Allura’s eyes for a moment, then following the lines that start at her clavicles down her arms, and the swirls that trail down her thighs to her calves.

“Is there a pattern to them at all?” he asks her.

She shakes her head. “Other than the ones under our eyes, everyone’s marks are different,” she tells him, thinking to herself. “Some fortunetellers make a science out of it — reading marks and positing the personality traits and fates associated with each kind of whirl or line, but honestly I’m not too much a believer in all of that symbolism.” She shrugs. “But the marks are important to Altean culture and to personal identity… after all the only person that knows your marks is yourself.” She flirts her eyes up at him. “And well, whoever you’re intimate with, I suppose.”

The faint smile on his lips grows. He loves these moments when she shares about Altean people, language, society, culture, everything. “So how do you imagine mine would look?” he asks.

She ponders a moment. “Well, of course we can start with your eyes,” she says, dipping her finger into the agluri. She comes close to him, raising herself to her knees and crouching down to meet him at eye level. “Hold still,” she whispers, her eyes focused. Obediently, he closes his eyes, holding his breath.

A cool and moist liquid rolls under his eyes, his left eye first and then his right eye, and when he opens his eyes, he sees Allura smiling to herself on a job well done.

“Perfect,” she mumbles. She looks down at his bare chest, thinking to herself before dipping her finger back into the agluri and dotting halfway up his neck before drawing a line over his collarbone and shoulder, ending with a small loop midway over his right arm. She stops just before his arm becomes metal. She does the same to his other arm, and self-satisfied she sits back and admires her work.

Shiro looks down at himself, but he can’t really see the work that she’s done so far. “You’re just making this up as you go along, aren’t you?” he teases.

She ignores the question. “Turn around,” she instructs instead through pursed lips.

Obligingly, he turns his back to her, sitting straight up. He feels her finger trace two cool lines from the top of his neck, following his spine all the way down to the top of his hips, before creating a few more lines along his shoulder blades.

He closes his eyes, trying to imagine what exactly she’s drawing on him, but her fingers are too fast and his back can’t feel the details well, and so eventually he just lets go of his thoughts and just enjoys the experience of being her canvas.

Eventually she stops, and then he feels her kiss his right cheek from behind him, getting herself up and off the bed. “Come,” she tells him, urging him to rise as well.

He does, standing straight to his full height and turns to her. She looks up at him, but more below his eyes and along the lines she’s painted on him with the agluri. She beams, and then out of nowhere, she drops to her knees and pulls his boxers down to his feet.

“Allura!” he chokes, instinctively covering himself. He quickly tries to recover, sputtering, “You can’t just do that while you’re… down there like that!” He feels a blush come over his face.

“Oh, you’re _such_ a boy,” she chides him, sitting herself back on the mattress and tucking the jar of agluri between her thighs. “Not everything we do is sexual.” She rests her hands on his hips, turning him to face his front to her. She looks up at him. “Besides, I’m familiar with everything already,” she adds, leaning forward to kiss his abdomen.

He looks away, embarrassed. “Honestly, this feels a little kinky.”

She smiles, picking up the agluri and dipping her finger in it again. “Well if you find we have better sex after such an activity, we can add it to our list of foreplay,” she tells him cheekily. “Turn to your side now, will you? Right side first.”

He does, and she stares at his body very intensely before seeming to settle on an artistic plan. She starts a line from about midpoint of his spine and follows his lowermost rib, crossing over to the front of his abdomen until halfway to his bellybutton, before diving straight down to the jut of his hip bone. She turns him around and makes a symmetrical line on his left side. After positioning him to face her, she connects the two lines from his right and left side in a straight line just under his bellybutton, chuckling to herself as she crosses a line of short hairs.

She leans back on her arms, giving him a once over.

“Done?” he asks, feeling like a weird combination of an art specimen and a naked model.

She shakes her head. “I’m trying to figure out what sort of a design I should draw over your legs,” she tells him, thinking to herself.

He looks down at the pink slithering marks on her legs, from under the slit of her nightgown. “Why don’t we just make them like yours?”

“No,” she replies. “I want something more valiant for you.”

Momentarily confused, he wishes he could read her mind, watching her intently as she swings legs back and forth until a thought occurs to her. She picks up a glob of agluri onto her finger and makes an open circle midway up his right thigh, adding a downward straight line before deflecting the line to the backside of his thigh and continuing down until just past the underside of his knee. She shifts her attention to his left leg, making the same marks as she did on his right leg, but this time, the circle on his left thigh is filled in completely.

“Done,” she says, lifting her finger from him. She stands up and takes his shoulders. “Now come, let me show you,” she says, gently prodding him over to the full-length mirror against her wall. “See?” she says, pointing at his reflection in the mirror. “Now you look properly Altean.”

He takes a look at himself, seeing the unnatural colors painted over his skin. But as alien as the color is on him, there’s a somewhat familiar feel to seeing the agluri designs. He turns, seeing the lines, dots, and swirls along his back and the bit that ends at his calves.

“What do you think?” she asks him, almost breathlessly, also staring at his reflection in the mirror.

“It’s strange to say but it feels… right,” he admits. The shimmering agluri looks so realistic; if Shiro forgot for a moment he’s an Earthling, he thinks he would fit right in with the other Alteans. “You’re very good at this,” he tells her, pulling her into an embrace. “Whatever… this art would be called.”

She smiles. “Let me explain what I did,” she suggests, slipping out of his arms. She points up to the beginning line of agluri on his neck, the three dots at the start. “This is where Alteans represent the voice, our language,” she explains. “And I connected your voice to your upper arm because you are a leader. You not only say things you want done, but you’re willing to put in the effort yourself to see that change through.”

She spins him around to face his back to the mirror. “The two straight lines along your back are to represent your strength and stability,” she continues. “In the face of adversity, you stand tall whether you will win or lose.”

“And the designs up here?” he asks her, pointing to the swirls and dots over his shoulder blades.

“I’ll come to that later,” she promises him. “Now turn back around.”

He feels a smile growing over his lips, and does as she says, facing himself in the mirror again.

“And now, I emphasized your belly because…” she trails off, and when Shiro looks at her, she’s covering her mouth as if to hide a grin. “Well…”

“Don’t tell me it’s because you were finding an excuse to feel me up,” he says.

“No!” she exclaims. She takes both his hands in hers. “No…” She smiles and finds the words. “I just really like your laugh,” she admits. She takes a breath to think. “It’s very genuine. You laugh from the inside,” she says. “It’s very rich.”

His smile widens and he leans in to touch her forehead to his, pulling her hands to his lips. “I love your laugh and smile, too.”

“Hm…” she hums, staying there a moment against him.

“Tell me what you’ve drawn on my legs,” he says softly, urging her to continue.

“Yes. You’re an adventurer,” she explains, stepping back to recall what she drew along his legs. “And you journey not only in the outside world your body lives in,” she says, running her hand on the open circle on his right thigh. “But also seek purpose within the inside world of your mind,” she continues, her other hand shifting to the closed circle on his left thigh. “You’re a deep thinker,” she concludes. “Your mind and body never rest.”

He thinks on her words for a moment, letting them settle in his heart before he grins. “Is this all bullshit symbolism you just created on the spot?”

She playfully hits his chest with her palm. “No!” she laughs. “I really meant all of that!”

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” he replies, trying to catch her eyes. When he does, he smiles at her.

She returns the smile. “Let me tell you what I did here,” she says, tapping the back of his shoulders.

“Ah, yes,” he says, turning his back to the mirror and craning his neck over his shoulder to get a better look at the set of branched curving lines that all together looked somewhat wing-shaped.

“They’re meant to match mine,” she tells him, quickly unbuttoning her nightgown and letting it fall to her feet.  

Although he’s completely naked himself, he’s not quite ready to process Allura unclothed without feeling a catch in his throat. Her gown slips off her easily, like drops of water in the shower, and as her silver hair tumbles back over her shoulders, some strands curling over and around her breasts, he takes a breath.

She pulls her hair over her shoulder and turns around to show him her back.

He’s seen her back many time before — the marks on her back a soft and shimmering pink that glowed when she was deep asleep and dreaming, and sometimes flushing so bright when he kisses her that he can see the light through his fingers when he holds her close to him. But it’s really only know that he actually looks at the arched lines that radiate downward two-by-two, branching off a single line down her spine, like the veins of a dogwood leaf.

She looks over her shoulder and traces the lines with her finger. “These are the marks of the Archer,” she explains. “I’m supposedly a visionary, aiming my arrow into some infinite space at a target that no one can foresee but everyone will eventually come to.” She looks over at his back. “And according to the fortunetellers, the complementary marks are that of the Architect — someone that can ground the quixotic nature of the Archer but also can form a base to build dreams from.”

She continues, as if reciting from her memories. Her hands come to his body, her fingers tracing over his skin delicately. “The Architect is an innovator, good with their hands, resourceful and able to make something out of what seems like nothing. Despite their prowess, an Architect is cautious and risk-averse, sometimes getting in the way of their inventions. The Archer balances that. The Archer is blind and can’t fear even when fear is staring them right in the eyes, and often pushes the other signs out of their comfort.”

“Hm,” Shiro replies, taking it all in. He thinks there’s something to how familiar the marks feel to his eyes and how he identifies with Allura’s words, and feeling an overwhelming feeling of fate and destiny and adoration that he doesn’t think he can contain, he quickly switches the subject. “Reminds me of horoscopes, but I’ll take it,” he jokes.

She shrugs, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. “I suppose every culture will hold beliefs over things they can’t control and will create significance out of things to understand.”

“You know for someone that doesn’t believe in reading marks, you certainly know plenty about it,” he remarks, reaching forward to wrap his arms around her waist. “Unless you actually believe them?”

“Well sometimes it’s hard for me to think it’s just by chance you found me,” she tells him softly, draping her arms around his neck and sinking into his embrace. She looks up at him. “I just feel like this is all too perfect, you know?”

Shiro can’t find the words to respond, so he says the only thing that’s on his mind. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too,” she replies, lifting her lips to give him a long kiss.

It’s a moment that Shiro enjoys to no end. The feel of her soft warm skin up against his, the ends of her hair tickling his forearms, her smell completely surrounding him. Her breasts are supple against his chest and his hands rest comfortably at the dip of her back. His fingers trace circle over her curves.

“So,” he says, when they take a breath. “What do the signs say about our sexual life?”

She looks at him funny. “What?”

He bites his tongue. “Is that not part of reading marks? Things about an Archer’s romantic life or future careers? Sex with an Archer?”

“That’s silly,” she laughs, resting her hand on his cheek. “We don’t quite take mark reading that far.” When her laughter subsides, she traces his face with her eyes, resting on his lips. “But I suppose we can determine that for ourselves, can’t we?” Her eyes flicker up to him.

He grins, slowing stepping them toward her bed. “Our clothes are already on the floor. We’re already halfway there.”

She walks with him backwards until her calves hit the side of the mattress.

“It would be a shame to waste our efforts, yes,” she agrees, and pulls him down.

.

.

To Shiro’s horror, the agluri doesn’t come off in the shower, even after a full minute of scrubbing so hard it makes his skin flush pink.

Allura doesn’t seem to notice, wrapping her hair up into a towel over her head. She bends down and then in one swift maneuver sets the swirl of towel and hair over her head. She turns around to face him and beams, coming forward to give him a kiss.

“That was amazing,” she tells him. And then she sees his concerned face and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Is this… stuff supposed to come off?” he asks, looking at the bathroom mirror after rubbing the mark under his eye in one last attempt.

She furrows her eyebrows. “Yes. Did you not wash yourself properly?”

 “I’m trying,” he says, now rubbing the agluri line over his stomach. Nothing happens.

“Oh,” she says, looking closer. “Well…” she says, thinking to herself. “It’s supposed to come off, but…” She steps out of the bathroom, letting a burst of cool air from outside of the shower come into the bathroom as she leans over to pick up the jar of agluri left on the nightstand. She reads the label quickly. “Right,” she says. “It’s supposed to come off without much — _oh_...”

“What?” he asks, but he already know it sounds bad.

She turns around, giving him a shaky smile. “Well… as long as you remove it within an hour it won’t stain your skin,” she says slowly.

He quickly does mental math, recounting the last time he looked at a clock. “So by the time we got into the shower, we were already well past an hour.”

“Yes,” she confirms. She gives him another guilty smile. “Sorry?”

He blinks. “Okay, we’ll just…” He looks back at the mirror. “No one’s going to notice, right? The only marks visible are the ones under my eyes.”

Allura hesitates. “Well… those are fairly obvious.”

“It’s fine, I’ll…” He thinks to himself. “How long does this stain last?”

“I don’t know,” she replies, taking the agluri jar and immediately returning it to the top shelf of her closet. “Maybe until your skin sheds it?”

She watches him rinse his face off one more time before he looks in the mirror, unfortunately seeing no progress in the disappearance of the agluri.

“It’s fine,” he tells her, but more to himself. “It’s fine. No one’s going to notice, and it’s just going to be a couple of days.”

.

.

But everyone did, and it was for much longer than just a couple of days.

“Hey, Shiro, I know how bad you want to dress up as an Altean, but it’s still three months until Halloween,” Lance says at the breakfast table, cackling.

“Maybe it’ll last until then,” Pidge adds with a chortle.

Shiro takes a deep breath in and out. “You know, Lance, if you want to keep making fun of the situation, at least find a better joke,” he replies.

Coran leans toward Allura, shielding his mouth as he whispers. “How long has it been now?”

“Two weeks,” she answers, unamused.

“You know,” Coran tells her, with a twinkle in his eye. “Your father fell for the same mistake back many deca-pheobs ago. He had a _smorgasbora_ scrawled on his knee for at least a month. Can you imagine? He had to pretend he had injured his knee so he could cover it with a splint! For an entire _pheob_ before the agluri came off!”

“Incredible,” Allura replies dryly.

She doesn’t mention there’s now a heart and a smiley face stained on her stomach, the byproduct of Shiro taking revenge while she was fast asleep one night.

Like father, like daughter, she presumes to herself.


End file.
